


When It's Over We Can Begin

by captainafroelf



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Death, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Healing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainafroelf/pseuds/captainafroelf
Summary: Steve's gone, leaving Sam and Bucky to pick up the pieces.





	1. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda nervous about posting this one. i wanted to write something really quiet and kinda sad for once so i hope this turned out gud, thanks for reading :)

He died before the ambulance could even arrive, in their arms, they didn’t even get the closure of a quiet goodbye because they were too busy trying to hold on.

Steve Rogers went on a battlefield, like all the great warriors of legend before him, and he left Sam and Bucky behind to mourn with nothing more than an “I love you” and a “Thank you”. He was grateful to have died in the arms of friends, the first time that he ‘died’ he was all alone.

For a moment, they just sat there over the body, ears ringing as if a bomb had just fallen. The world moved around them. They were on the inside of a fish bowl, and all the sadness and shock was contained within. There was still a battle to be fought and won, but who cared?

Bucky was stone-still and silent, but Sam pulled Steve’s heavy, lifeless body close and wept. His eyes were wide open, fear mixing with the sadness to make the streams of tears dripping down onto Steve’s face.

Bucky stood slowly, Sam looked up at him with tightly-knit brows. His dry mouth opened as if he had something to say, but there was nothing he could say. There wasn’t a thought on his mind, not even as Bucky’s arm whirred into readiness and he walked right back out into the gunpowder and smoke, this time with tears clouding his eyes.

Later, Sam would find out that Bucky didn’t get very far away from him at all. “He was guarding you and Steve’s body”, whispered Natasha as Sam watched the medics put Captain America in a black body bag. He was holding the shield. Bucky was nowhere to be found, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood or mindset to chase after him. “I saw him run off, do you think I should find him?”

Sam shook his head. “He saw it as close as I did… and I wish I could run.”

* * *

 

Bucky turned up about three days later. Sam was on the phone making funeral arrangements when he slipped into the door of the apartment they’d shared. It was usually a bright place for Bucky. Light came in through the windows, warm lights lit the space at night. Sam was usually smiling or laughing. When Steve came over, it was even happier. And he would’ve come back a day earlier had he not remembered that Steve wouldn’t be visiting their apartment anymore.

Sam turned to him and sighed. Bucky didn’t move, he stood by the door like a dark statue, his lungs filling with air and holding it there for a hesitant moment before releasing again. He hadn’t slept, neither of them had, really. Every time Sam closed his eyes he could see the moment he really learned that Steve Rogers wasn’t bulletproof. He felt Steve’s hand gripping tightly to his arm, as he whispered for Sam to stay with him in his final moments. He saw the blood gurgling from the corners of his lips. In the distance, Bucky screamed for help, but all Sam wanted to do was wake up and discover that this had all been a nightmare.

Sam tried thinking of something to say to Bucky. It had never really been a problem before. He and Bucky had gotten along famously, just as Steve hoped. Sure, they would bicker like children, but it was all good fun. At the end of the day they were a team, the three of them.

The _two_ of them.

Sam swallowed and tried thinking of something to say as Bucky unlaced his boots and hung up his jacket. _I’m going in to look at coffins today, Sharon’s coming. Do you want to?_

Bucky kept his eyes low and walked in silence to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Sam heard the shower turn on, and decided that would be his answer.

* * *

 

Bucky squeezed his tie, not too tight. He combed his hair, he buttoned the vest and then the jacket on his suit. Sam said he didn’t have to sit through the funeral. But he wanted to be there the entire step of the way, for Sam as well as for Steve.

He hadn’t actually said a word to Sam since Steve died, the part of his brain that formed words had gone silent, as if someone flipped a switch. He wouldn’t stay silent forever, at least he’d hoped not. He’d already lost Steve, he sure as hell wasn’t about to lose Sam.

“Ready?” Sam asked. He stood in the doorway, looking handsome. His broad shoulders were tense. He looked at Bucky’s suit and gave him a small grin. “Lookin’ good, Barnes. Lookin’ real good.”

Bucky grinned back. _You always look good, Wilson._ He kept that thought to himself as he followed Sam out the door.

They carried Steve’s casket together. They looked at the floor, and at the faces of their friends lining the pews, but they never looked at the heavy load they carried.

They sat beside each other as the funeral went on. Sam only left Bucky’s side to give a few words. When he returned to the pew, Bucky gave him a nod of assurance. Through their unique brand of telepathy, he told him, _You did well_.

Sam nodded back to thank him. He wondered if his eyes were as glassy and bloodshot. He wondered if he looked quite as broken.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the service, they didn’t say a word as Steve’s body was lowered into the ground. They didn’t say a word on the long ride home. Once they were home, they let out long sighs, calling it a day and immediately dragging their heavy feet and souls to their rooms.


	2. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the love and validation, it is much appreciated

It had been two days since they buried Steve Rogers and now his things needed to be packed. Sharon wasn’t sure where to begin, so she enlisted Sam and Bucky’s help, along with the help of Natasha. They put on some music to try and give the day some levity. Occasionally, they would find something with a story attached to it and take a break to reminisce. Except for Bucky. Bucky would listen and watch, but he remained mostly stone-faced and silent as he packed some of Steve’s things into cardboard boxes.

“I remember our first date as if it were yesterday,” Sharon said, running her thumb over the cold metal of his broken watch. “His palms couldn’t have been sweatier.”

They laughed. Nat looked at the watch and noticed it’s still hands. “Of course the battery’s dead…”

“You know it wasn’t a priority,” Sam said. “He would’ve changed the battery eventually.”

Sharon snorted. “'Eventually' being the operative word.”

“He was a little busy, Sharon.”

Sharon looked back down at the watch, and a wistfulness washed over her face. She’d spent so much time over the past few days remembering what was, considering what could have been. Maybe. Eventually. “Yeah, I guess he was.”

Sam carried an empty box into the bedroom and labelled it ‘STEVE’S CLOTHES’ with a black Sharpie. Bucky just finished in the bathroom and joined him there. The space was liminal. Vacant but full somehow. Steve was there, even though he would never be there again.

Sam carefully opened Steve’s drawers and started folding crumpled shirts and packing them into the box. He held up the shirt Steve was wearing the day they’d first met in DC and smiled.

“He still owes me a fair run,” he remarked. “He also owes you about twenty bucks.” He pulled out and folded more shirts. “I’m vaguely sure that none of these are his size.”

Bucky scrunched up his nose and shook his head. Sam stopped to laugh, it felt good. It felt good for Bucky to see him laugh, too.

“You don’t wear shirts your own size either, Barnes. You can’t even talk.”

Bucky stuck up his middle finger and went to work on packing the clothes hanging in Steve’s closet.

The room couldn't stay silent, it couldn't. The silence was too heavy now, Sam needed something, anything, to fill the space and get him out of the thoughts he'd been trapped alone with for days now.

Bucky looked back at him and sighed. It sucked that Sam was so good, and so open about everything he felt. Bucky could tell he was struggling in the place between understanding his silence and wanting to shout at him, beg him to talk. He wanted him to shout if he needed too.

But then he didn't.

Sam stopped folding and turned to him. “I miss him, too.”

Bucky’s shoulders drooped, and he continued packing in silence. His jaw clenched but he just kept packing. Actually, he wasn’t packing anymore. He was just taking the clothes off of their hangers and throwing them haphazardly onto the bed. Sam stepped towards him with a concerned, fixed gaze on his back.

“Bucky, take a step back for a minute.”

He reached out for the next shirt that was hanging and then he froze. He whispered something that Sam couldn’t quite make out, and he walked closer to hear more clearly.

“What was that?” he asked, gently. It was always hard to know exactly what to do when Bucky’s emotions reached such an extreme point, but Sam just treated him how he would want to be treated, with patience. That usually bred good results.

“I said I’m sorry…” Bucky rasped, his voice was slightly choked up as it rose from his dry throat. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

He turned to him and Sam saw it all, again, through this odd telepathy they shared. _Sorry for shutting down. Sorry for not saving Steve. Sorry for never doing enough. Sorry for taking advantage of you all these years. I can lose you at any point, I know that now._ “I’m sorry.”

Sam pulled Bucky close, his head pressed into Sam’s hard chest. He gripped tightly to the sides of his t-shirt and kept repeating it over and over.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry. I’m so _fucking_ sorry.”

Sam rubbed his back. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Bucky. There was nothing you could do.”

“I’m sorry.”

Partially speaking to himself, Sam replied, “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Bucky lifted his head and Sam gently wiped the tears from his eyes. Bucky, in turn, wiped Sam’s. They looked into each other’s eyes, as they’d done a million times before Steve died, and found comfort there. Bucky couldn’t feel anything but absolution when he looked at Sam. He wanted to keep his arms wrapped around him. He wanted to listen to his heartbeat, remind himself that Sam was still here, Sam was still living.

The two men broke apart, Sam gave Bucky well-needed space to breathe. He asked him if he wanted to step outside with him, but Bucky declined. He was fine where he was. He just needed to break a little.

“Whatever happens next happens to us both,” Sam said, quietly. “You don’t have to be an island, you know that. Alright?”

Bucky nodded and wiped his nose. “It’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, it is. Always thought you two would be doing this for me.”

Bucky looked up with a smirk. “C’mon, you’ll outlive us all, Wilson.”

“Only one of us is a super soldier, Barnes.”

Bucky started picking up the clothes he’d thrown around and folding them. “Doesn’t mean jack shit, does it? I might be aging a little slower but a body’s still a body.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s a pretty solid body.”

Bucky’s cheeks reddened a bit. “Yeah, well, your workouts aren’t easy.”

Sam rolled his eyes and went back to packing, too. “I’ve seen you kick a man about thirty feet back, my workouts have nothing to do with it… By the way, I've decided that you owe me dinner tomorrow night. Now that you’re talkin’, feel free to say no.”

Bucky grinned, the melancholy of the past week finally showing signs of fading. “I’m not gonna say no to you taking me out on a date, Wilson.”

With a bit of exaggeration, Sam scoffed. “A date? You’re not my type.”

“We kissed once.”

_“... Undercover.”_

“You say that, but I’m not the one who started using tongue.”

“I think I liked it better when you didn’t talk...”


	3. Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your patience, please leave comments and let me know if i'm doing a shit job xx

Bucky idly stirred his milkshake across from Sam, who was still deciding what to order from the decades old diner and it’s equally old waitress who was making her way over at an impressively quick pace. The group of bikers sitting by the decades old jukebox decided that tonight was the night to load up all the eighties rock they had. The biggest, baldest one, bobbed his head along to "Mr. Roboto" with his eyes closed, as if it were the greatest song ever written.

Sam peeked over at him with a raised, amused eyebrow. Bucky turned around and Sam’s eyes widened. “Don’t turn your entire head!”

Bucky turned back around as soon as the bikers appeared to have noticed that they had an audience. “How else was I s’posed to see?!”

Sam sucked his teeth and shook his head. “I thought you were a better spy than that...”

“I’m barely a spy, Sam.”

“Obviously.”

The diner was having a slow night, perfect for two Avengers who wanted to fly under the radar. It was quiet enough inside that they could just be normal, whatever that meant in their case.

“It’s good to be out…” Bucky said. “I think if I spent one more night in that apartment just thinking about it…”

“Yeah, I know, me too.” The waitress stepped up to their table and cleared her throat, quickly ordering a burger and fries. Bucky decided to order the same. “Thanks sweetheart.”

The waitress blushed and walked away, Bucky couldn’t stifle the laugh. “You tryna get a date, Wilson? _While we're on one?_ ”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t cost anything to be kind.”

“So I guess it’s just your face then…”

He raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“You have one of those faces, y’know?” The corners of Bucky’s lips curled up and he went back to twirling his straw. “Something about it... just attracts people.”

Sam grinned and shrugged. “Not to brag but I do pretty well for myself.”

“Of course, you’re real charming when you aren’t annoying me.”

“Are you implying that you aren’t?”

“Oh c’mon…”

“I’ve seen the way people look at you, especially girls. I say they just haven’t felt your cold hand on their back after you stuck it in the fridge.”

Bucky laughed. “I’ve only ever done that to you!”

“Yeah, and why’s that?”

“Steve never reacted the way I wanted him to.”

“Too serious?”

“Too forgiving.”

They laughed and the song went from “Mr. Roboto” to “True”. Sam started humming along and Bucky looked up at him. Amused, his eyes crinkled at the corners and he sipped his milkshake. A moment of silence passed between them. Eventually, Sam’s shoulders fell and he stopped humming.

“Can I talk about it?” he asked.

Bucky sighed and sat back in the seat. “Of course, Sam. You listen to me all the time...”

“You always listen to me, too,” Sam said. “I notice.”

“Yeah, well, I owe you that much, you went to prison protecting me once, remember?”

“You don’t owe me anything, no one does, especially not Steve...” Bucky could see him deflating, and gave Sam his full attention. “I just… I couldn’t watch another friend die. I couldn’t stand there and let Steve and you… The way I watched Riley-”

“Riley wasn’t your fault either.”

“Maybe so, but he was my responsibility.”

“Okay, but Steve wasn’t anyone’s responsibility,” Bucky told him. He leaned closer. “Steve was always someone who ran into burning buildings at the drop of a hat. No matter what you said to him, he wouldn’t stop. You did the best that you could do, Sam. You always do. You remember how fucked up I was, right?”

“Of course.”

“Right, but you never gave up on me. You didn’t stop worrying.”

“You’re my friend.”

Bucky shook his head. “You looked after me when we first met, when we definitely were _not_ friends. You were the first person I felt comfortable with after I got away from Hydra, after I tore your fucking wings.”

Bucky’s resolve was falling again. The emotional week was pulling it all from him, everything that he’d bottled up through the years was boiling and bubbling to the surface as if Steve’s sudden death lit a fire beneath him. He tried to keep himself calm, tried using the tools Sam taught him to regain control over his own feelings. Sam could see it all happening in the way Bucky’s jaw locked into place and his metal hand started squeezing into a stressed fist.

“You alright, Bucky?”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “There it is…”

“What?”

“You!” Bucky replied. “There you are! That’s Sam Wilson. That’s the man who cares about everyone. That’s the man who’s rational, and kind. Even if it’s something small, that just radiates off of you, no matter what shit I put you through, you stay here and I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why.”

“Like I said, you’re my friend.”

“I don’t deserve you as a friend. I never really thought I deserved Steve either…”

“Do you think I did?”

“Why wouldn’t you? You were the man he trusted, Sam! Above everyone else, even above me.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. You trusted him right back, you followed him into the fire… You’ll never have that with… with anyone else.”

Now Sam got it, it was all perfectly clear. This whole time he’d thought that he and Bucky were harboring some amount of jealousy towards each other. He expected that, with them both being Steve’s best friends. But now he was starting to see that Bucky wasn’t jealous of him at all. 

“Anyone else? Like who?”

Bucky looked down. “You’ll never be like that with Natasha or Sharon or Thor or any of the others… You’ll never trust me that much, and I can’t blame you.”

“I trust you a lot, Bucky. Don’t get that twisted. I’ll follow you into the same war zones as I did Steve, because you’re my friend… And maybe I’m crazy as you are.”

Bucky looked up at him, not quite knowing how to respond. His eyes looked at Sam but his thoughts were moving faster than he could make sense of them.

Sam was trying so hard to make Bucky see how much he cared about him. He needed him around- not as back-up, he could take care of himself- but he needed him around because Bucky _got him_. Sometimes Bucky got him even more than Steve did, more than anyone. Bucky felt that too. When they would have these moments alone with each other, that's when they felt the most open.

The moment reached the point of no return, where someone would have to either address what needed to be addressed, or they would move on to another point of conversation. Bucky was the one not quite ready to let go. Looking into the warm eyes of the man across from him, he could only think to say that which had been stuck on the tip of his tongue for almost as long as they’d known each other.

“Sam, I’ve always wanted to tell you... I-”

The waitress came by with their food. Sam took his plate with a smile, and Bucky grinned as she came between them, breaking the moment and giving Bucky enough seconds of distance to reconsider what he was about to say. He decided to put that thought back into his bottle for later. It was always ‘later’ with this, rarely ‘now’,

The waitress had a quick, friendly conversation with Sam before heading back to the kitchen. Sam turned back to Bucky, who’d already started stuffing his mouth with french fries.

“You were saying?”

Bucky smirked, good as new, despite the glassy, frustrated eyes of a man with a secret kept for far too long. “I’m glad I met you, Wilson.”

His expression didn't hide anything from Sam, who knew he was holding something else back, but wouldn't press it. “Likewise, man, c’mon. We’re attached at the hip now.”

Bucky chuckled. “We should get matching tattoos.”

“Would a tattoo even stay on your skin? Wouldn’t it just heal itself?”

“Is that really your only objection to that?”

“Hey, weirder things have happened when we’re together.”

“Yeah, but I like us that way.”

Sam smiled. “I really like us, too.”


	4. Exhale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my last minute attempt to lighten the mood

All the days started blending as Sam and Bucky found their footing. It wasn't an awful month. Aside from the occasional crying fit or sudden emotional numbness, they were adjusting well to only being two. But there was an elephant in the room. Actually, not in theirs, but in Sharon's.

_Who was getting the shield?_

Steve didn't have a will, he didn't mention it to either of them. At first, Fury wanted them to decide amongst themselves. Once he remembered who he was talking to, he changed his mind.

Sam and Bucky went through weeks of screenings, a meeting or two. Everything else happened behind closed doors. All the secrecy had them nervous, but it only served to bring them closer. They both couldn't help but think about why the other was fit for the job, and that just made the other huge elephant in the room all the more imposing, especially during the quieter moments.

Bucky caught Sam staring at him one day when they'd just returned from a run. Bucky was surprised that it wasn't the other way around this time, as sweat had gathered on Sam's forehead and on his chest, and the apparent heat wave wasn't helping him much. Bucky's super soldier body regulated temperature much better, something Sam admitted being jealous of once or twice before.

Bucky looked up at him. He blinked a few times before he was sure that Sam was actually staring. “What?”

“Nothing, just trying to… picture you in the ol’ red, white, and blue.’

Bucky scoffed. “I don't think I have the job, Sam.”

He crossed his arms. “Why the hell not?”

Bucky poked his forehead with two fingers. “Not well up here.”

“ _Right_ , and I'm the picture of impeccable mental health.”

“Not what I meant, I just… pose a threat. You don't, at all. I really feel like, between the two of us, you're the one that people will rally behind. You're the every man.”

Sam shook his head. “Not every man…”

“Yeah, not everyone has the thighs to fill the uniform out.”

“You do,” Sam said, his eyes moving over Bucky's legs as he did. Bucky laughed. “Don't sell yourself so short, Barnes. You're pretty popular amongst people, too. Especially teenagers.” He drew his bottom lip between his teeth. “Besides, you're already a super soldier. I'm just… I _was_ just a soldier.”

“You're not _just_ anything, Sam.”

Sam grinned. “Thanks, man, I'll try and keep that with me on my bad days.”

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair and stood up, walking over to Sam and putting his hands on his shoulders. “It really should be you,” Bucky said. “Because you can do this without me, but, fuck, I _need_ you.”

Sam swallowed and stared into Bucky's eyes. “You're wrong, y'know?”

“I'm not.”

“Yeah, you are, Bucky.” His eyes flickered to his lips for second before returning to his eyes. “Cause they ain't giving me this shield unless I can have you.”

Bucky smiled. “Natasha's still an option, Icarus.”

Sam scrunched up his nose. “Natasha’s always gonna be around, but you're my partner. Besides, you're prettier than Nat.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Says the guy who's prettier than everyone.”

He squeezed Sam's shoulders with a chuckle, then released, meaning to move his hands, but he lingered instead. Bucky watched Sam's long eyelashes flutter, and his brown irises caught the light coming in from the kitchen window. It was like Sam was some artist's masterpiece, or the light was hitting him in that moment to urge Bucky to act. And act he did.

“I love you,” he said. It was just louder than a whisper, Bucky's eyes were flooded with gentle blue sincerity.

Sam felt his breath hitch. 'I love you’ was something he'd said to Steve many times, in the way anyone would love someone who they voluntarily spent time on the brink of death with. Bucky’s 'I love you’ didn't come from the brink of death, it came from a yearning for a new life, he found a new life in Sam.

Sam's silence had Bucky's eyes brimming with tears. He started wondering if he'd misread so many conversations and glances. His anxiety had his chest feel tight. “I'm sorry, if this is too-”

“Shut up, Bucky.”

Sam held Bucky's face in his hands and kissed him. It was soft at first, tender and sweet. Bucky wondered how Sam could just be coming in from a run and yet smell so good. Sam smelled like dryer sheets, morning dew, and fresh orange juice. Bucky wished every breath he took could smell exactly like that.

Sam made a satisfied noise when Bucky's hands seemed to hold onto him for balance. He pulled away and smiled at him.“I love you, too.”

Bucky tried pulling himself from the dream state he was just floating in so that he could respond. “Well… great! Perfect! That's what I wanted!”

“How long you been holding that back?”

“Felt like a lifetime,” he replied. “But it's good to finally have it off my chest.”

“Did Steve know?”

Bucky scoffed. “Oh please, as if I was gonna tell Steve, with his chronic foot in mouth syndrome, that I'm in love with you.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, now that you mention it.”

“He woulda told a cab driver. He woulda told our mailman. I'd have the mailman giving me weird looks… Okay, well weirder ones than usual.”

“He _does_ have a weird thing for your arm.”

“Thank God you noticed, too. I'm really glad we had this talk.”

Sam leaned in for another kiss. “Me too.”

* * *

Another day went by as quickly as it came, Sam woke up in Bucky's arms to the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside table. He opened one eye and reached for it, lifting it to see that Fury was calling.

Sam groaned and tried to sound a bit more alert and attentive. He shifted gently out of Bucky's grip and walked into the hallway.

“Yes, Director?”

“Where are you?”

“In my apartment.”

“That’s funny because I've been knocking for twenty minutes, Agent Wilson.”

 _Shit_. “I'll be right there.”

Sam crept back into the room and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, throwing them on before rushing to the door.

Director Fury was standing there with a brow raised. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Just sleep.”

“Good, you'll need it. You're the new Captain America. If you want to be, of course.”

Sam's eyes widened. “Me?”

“We've spoken to all of your colleagues and we all agreed that you're the man for the job.”

Sam stuttered and cleared his throat. “Director Fury…”

“Barnes, do you think Agent Wilson has what it takes to have the shield?” Sam turned and saw Bucky leaning on the wall with a glass of water and sex-tousled hair. “As the man who knows him best.”

Bucky's eyes crinkled at the corners and he took an amused sip. “I do know him very well…” Sam sighed. “He's the perfect man for the job, like you said. He should take it.”

“You sure?” mouthed Sam.

“Positive.” Bucky mouthed back. “Just say yes, I'll be in there.”

He left and Sam turned back to Fury. “I am the new Captain America.”

After Sam finished talking with Fury, he returned to the bedroom where Bucky was waiting behind the door. As soon as he walked in, Bucky pulled him into a happy kiss.

“It doesn't feel any different…” he whispered as they pulled apart.

“What?”

“Kissing Captain America.”

Sam snorted. “You don't feel more patriotic?”

“Hell no!” Bucky said. “I just feel… at home. Finally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, babies <3


End file.
